Long greasy hair braided by a blind man
fingernails filled with dirt;
Looking like an unkind man
toothless smile; crooked brows
new testament, psalms, full of thees and thous
in a bag, buried neath sunflower seeds
says he ‘s okay
but he’s a blackhole of needs
smoking her cigarette on the bench
in the park
Her living room, kitchen,where she sleeps
when its dark
fragmented cappillaries cover her cheeks
but she’s stayed out of rehab now for a few weeks
she picks up the bottle that fuels fantasies
says she’s okay but she’s a
blackhole of needs
“Take them to breakfast”
I fell to my knees
I knew I’d been called to love
The least of these
My love is imperfect,
Unskilled in the street
Why should I be chosen
To wash these dirty feet
I’ve taken no classes
I’ve not worked in this field
But I heard very clearly
To His heart mine should yield
It’s hardest to love those who’ve never been loved
But as I do I emerge leaning on my Beloved…
They say they’re okay, but these blackholes of need
Are the reason Jesus Christ came to bleed.
